The Unworthy Duke

by Charlotte Anne

  ‘I just don’t see why you’re doing this for me. What do you get out of it?’

  You! that traitorous voice in his head yelled. All of you. ‘Do ye really think I’d get a second of peace from Lady F if I did nothing to help?’

  ***

  Calum left London within the hour. Ellen only wished she could have gone with him, but travelling always made her feel so ill she’d only have slowed him down. And right now, speed was of the essence. There was no knowing what Geoffrey would do next.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Owen locked the front door with a large brass key. ‘The whole house is under martial law,’ he declared. ‘Nobody’s to leave without informing me first.’

  ‘Piddle paddle!’ scoffed Lady Faye.

  ‘It’s called a safety precaution.’

  ‘It’s called power hungry.’

  Owen just shook his head. ‘I’m going to make sure all the windows are latched closed.’

  ‘Whyever for?’ the dowager frowned at his retreating back. ‘It’s not like Geoffrey’s going to climb in through a window. What’s gotten into him?’

  ‘He loves you, and he’s worried,’ replied Ellen, desperately trying to ignore the guilt swirling around her stomach. They wouldn’t have to be doing all of this if it weren’t for her.

  ‘Idiot boy.’ But Lady Faye’s gaze softened. ‘Cal told me of your engagement.’

  ‘Fake engagement,’ Ellen hurried to correct.

  ‘Details, details. I’m absolutely delighted. I was beginning to doubt he’d ever leave this house again. And now he’s out and about, rescuing a lassie and marrying—’

  ‘Pretending to be engaged to the sister of a bankrupt baron.’

  Lady Faye’s levelled her gaze on Ellen. ‘I have a new house rule for you, gel. Stop defining yourself by the actions of your brother.’

  ‘I’m just—’

  ‘And no apologising for his indiscretions either. Understand me?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And promise you’ll let me help plan your wedding.’

  ‘We’re not really getting married!’

  ‘Perfect.’ The dowager smiled. ‘Now kiss my cheek, for you’re to be my first granddaughter.’ She titled her head to the side, presenting Ellen with one papery cheek and no way to argue.

  Her skin was cool to the touch and she smelled of lavender soap.

  ‘Ah, I’ve just remembered,’ said Ellen. ‘I should have asked you earlier, but how did your visit to Grace go?’

  Lady Faye’s face clouded over.

  Ellen winced. ‘I see. I’m sorry.’ No wonder she’d returned home so soon—returned home to find Geoffrey ranting and raving.

  A bell rang, the sound echoing from the kitchen down the narrow passage.

  ‘What was that?’ Owen dashed towards them. There were spider webs in his hair, like he’d been crawling around the attic or maybe through Grace’s half of the house. His poor waistcoat.

  ‘Evidently someone wants to come inside,’ answered Lady Faye turning to the front door. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It could be Geoffrey returned,’ hissed Owen.

  ‘Or it could be one of the servants. You locked the back door too, remember.’ The dowager pressed her eye to the keyhole. ‘I can see you. Announce yourself.’

  A shuffling. A cough. An awkward silence. ‘Umm…I have a delivery for Lady Faye from Miss Bond.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ Lady Faye straightened. ‘Well,’ she demanded of Owen. ‘You heard the boy. Open the door immediately.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’ Owen teetered on the spot. ‘He could easily be lying.’

  ‘Open. The. Door. Tattershall.’ Her voice held a warning note, and Owen relented. Snatching the box from the frazzled carrier, he thrust a generous tip at him before slamming the door closed and locking it again with a swift click.

  Lady Faye took the box, indicating Ellen should follow her back into the drawing room. ‘I ordered this as a surprise for you, back when we had that dress fitting. Mademoiselle Bond promised to send it along as soon as it was ready.’ She snapped the door closed, leaving Owen high and dry in the passage without an apology. ‘She finished it sooner than I was expecting. Lucky this one didn’t need a return fitting.’

  ‘My lady…’ Ellen gestured towards the door.

  ‘Serves him right for thinking he can refuse my delivery.’ She handed the box to Ellen, crowding in close to get a good look. ‘Open it.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have.’ More guilt lumped in her stomach like a waxy ball of tallow.

  ‘Open it.’ She nudged Ellen with her elbow.

  Nestled in a cloud of white tissue paper sat a small card with the words ‘Mademoiselle Bond of House of Bond, Bond Street’ printed on one side, and on the other side there was a handwritten note.

  Something to make you glow.

  With shaking hands, Ellen lifted out the most exquisite nightdress she’d ever seen. Made of the lightest cream muslin with delicate lace edgings and tiny mother of pearl buttons, the nightdress had an empire waistline and short puffed sleeves. The matching wrapper was a little simpler with a single tie that fastened under the bust.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  ‘I know you didn’t want me to buy you anything else,’ Lady Faye said with a self-satisfied smile. ‘But, if the state of your morning dresses are anything to go on, your nightrail isn’t fit to be seen either.’

  ‘It’s…’ Beautiful didn’t seem adequate. Pure decadence.

  ‘Rather French, eh?’ Lady Faye wiggled her eyebrows.

  ‘Now you mention it.’ It did look rather like the nightdress described in the boudoir novel.

  ‘A happy coincidence,’ Lady Faye assured her with a chuckle. ‘Put this on and Cal won’t be able to take his eyes off you, my gel.’

  ‘That’s your grandson you’re talking about! And you do realise we’re not actually getting married?’

  ‘Phiff! Details, details.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Miss Guinevere didn’t like him one bit. She clung to the skirts of a woman he could only assume was Miss Miller and glared at him through the curtain of her dark curls with such ferocity her displeasure was almost palpable. He paused on his way towards the front door, keeping his distance.

  ‘Who are you?’ An aggressive flush sat high on Maggie Miller’s cheeks. She had her hands tucked behind her back and her shoulders set straight as a ship’s main mast. With her mottled brown and grey hair she resembled a tall tabby cat guarding her precious kitten.

  There was another woman who watched him warily through the kitchen window. Probably the sister-in-law who’s cottage this was.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he repeated.

  ‘Then what exactly are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m a friend of Ellie’s ahh…Miss Burney.’

  Gwen started at that the sound of her sister’s name, but she didn’t make a sound. Even half hidden, there was no doubt she was related to his Ellie. They shared the same dark eyebrows, the same small chin.

  He knew nothing of children, so he forced a smile. ‘Hello there… little one.’

  Gwen’s glare instantly magnified.

  He turned hastily to Maggie. ‘I have a note of introduction from Miss Burney explaining why I’ve come and what’s to be done next.’ There’d be no point trying to explain anything else until Maggie had read the letter. Judging by his less than warm welcome, they wouldn’t believe him even if he tried. He held up the sealed letter to show her.

  Maggie’s stern manner didn’t relent. In this scenario, he was like an unknown dog. To them, he surely looked a lot like Tzar—with his scarred muzzle and the chunk missing from his ear.

  Cal turned his head, presenting them with his good side. ‘I’ll give you time to think in peace. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be waiting in the lane.’ He placed the letter on the garden path, donning his hat and retreating back down the lane to his waiting horse.

  ***

  Sop
hy Calder appeared overnight.

  Ellen rested a hand on the cool glass of the half-window of the ballroom. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the woman she’d bumped into at the fireworks was now surveying the house from across the street.

  Her dress was almost identical to the one she’d been wearing the other night, with its faded linsey apron. In the sunlight, her hair shone an even brighter red, the old straw bonnet doing little to disguise her locks.

  The neighbour’s second footman, dressed in ostentatious livery of blue and gold, approached. They conversed for a few minutes, but Sophy shook her head and eventually he retreated. A few moments later the second footman returned accompanied by the first footman and the butler. They kept gesturing for her to leave, but she would not be told.

  The servants disappeared inside again, and a family of five girls and their mother stepped out. They marched from the house, resolutely ignoring Sophy as they passed, and clambered into a crowed closed-roof town coach. The driver set the greys in motion and they disappeared around the corner in the direction of the Pantheon Arcade at a fast trot.

  Their papa’s pocketbook was going to be considerably lighter by day’s end.

  The old townhouse creaked in the silence. Everything seemed so much quieter without Calum around. Ellen shuffled from foot to foot. He’d only been gone a day and a half and wasn’t supposed to return for another day and a half.

  To make matters worse, her menses had arrived the other night. Her breasts and abdomen ached and she felt generally out of sorts, like she was on the verge of crying.

  She watched as Sophy’s gaze roamed over the large yew tree and its resident crow to the two matching front doors and the disused ballroom balcony. Looking straight at the ballroom window, she raised a hand and waved.

  Ellen spun on her heels, retreating to the kitchen.

  ‘Miss.’ Cook bobbed head and knees. ‘I’m just about to take up a tray for her ladyship. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘No. Thank you.’ Ellen’s stomach churned at the thought of food. She bent to pat Tzar’s head. He was sitting by the range, keeping an eye on the tray of food Cook was carrying. As she left the kitchen, Tzar sighed, clambered to his feet and trotted after her, his waging tail in a wave goodbye.

  The stockpot full of Calum’s marmalade was still on the sideboard. Cook had tried to decant it into smaller jars, but it was particularly thick and nothing short of sheer determination was enough to move more than a teaspoon at a time. And at the centre of the long table was the square cake tin wrapped in a thick chain and secured with the padlock. Chakrabarti had tried to pick the lock to no avail.

  Ellen walked a lap of the kitchen, letting the warmth from the hearth seep into her hands and feet. This room even smelled a little of Calum. There was a bottle of half-drunk whisky on the sideboard and one of his old cloaks hanging on a hook by the door. He was probably the only duke to ever make himself comfortable in his own kitchen. She smiled. He was probably the only duke who even knew how to find his own kitchen.

  ‘I have a missive for you, Miss…’ Chakrabarti stood on the threshold, one foot in the kitchen and one foot out. ‘It was pushed under the front door. I didn’t mean to read it, but it’s not sealed.’ He held it out to her, refusing to make eye contact.

  ‘Not sealed’ was an understatement. It was just an old calling card with battered corners. The name and address had been crossed out and on the back someone had scrawled a single sentence.

  I’m coming for you, whore.

  It hadn’t even been signed. Not that it mattered. There was no mistaking Geoffrey’s handwriting. ‘Did you see who delivered it?’

  ‘No, Miss ahh…Burney.’

  She winced. Burney, not Smith. The servants knew about her brother. Did they all hate her now they knew she was a liar?

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He nodded, staring down at his shoes—a reliable pair of black buckled boots.

  ‘My brother—’ She stopped, unsure about where to take that sentence. Then another thought occurred to her. ‘I like to think we were friends when I was her ladyship’s companion. And we’re friends still, if that’s alright with you.’

  ‘Now you’re His Grace’s fiancée?’

  Fake fiancée. But she couldn’t tell him that. The fewer people who knew, the safer it was for Gwen. You’re good a keeping secrets, scoffed a voice in her head. Will you ever not be living a lie? ‘Still friends,’ she repeated allowed.

  He smiled, visibly relaxing. ‘We’ll keep you safe. Your brother won’t find his way back into this house.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She forced a return smile then looked back down at the card in her hand. Geoffrey was like a snake in the grass. He’d always preferred to do his bullying from the shadows. Verity called it a muzzle move, like in boxing. Ellen just called it cowardly.

  A ring sounded and they both glanced towards the bell board. Someone was at the front door.

  ‘I didn’t realise we were expecting visitors.’

  ‘We aren’t.’ Chakrabarti hurriedly tugged at the lapel of his jacket and headed down the passage to answer it. He reappeared a few moments later and passed Ellen another calling card. This one was clean and crisp, with elegant handwriting announcing their guest.

  ‘She asked for her ladyship,’ he said, as Ellen stared down at the name.

  ‘Then you’d better send Pamela up to wake her at once. Lady Faye isn’t going to want to miss seeing her daughter.’

  ***

  Cal gave a well-practiced bow, acknowledging Maggie as she strode towards him down the lane. The overgrown gooseberry hedges either side provided the perfect cover for a private conversation. Howbeit, they prevented Cal from seeing very far in either direction, so if anyone came across them there wouldn’t be much warning.

  Ellie’s friend dipped into a curtsey. ‘It seems you were telling the truth after all, Your Grace. I would know Ellen’s handwriting anywhere.’ Her eyes flickered to the scars on his face. She was uncomfortable being so close to him but doing a very good job at hiding it—a better job than the half the ton.

  Judging by her worn dress, her deportment and her manner of speaking, she was probably the daughter of the local parson or a respectable farmer. Her hand was free of a wedding ring though she was closer to forty than he was.

  ‘I’m to take Miss Guinevere to London, to Miss Burney.’

  Maggie nodded. ‘I’m a little relieved. We’ve been convinced Geoffrey will appear up the lane at any moment, but Verity—that is, Mrs Nott is having trouble finding us new accommodation.’

  ‘If you pack Gwen’s belongings into a small bag, we’ll leave as soon as possible.’

  ‘Where’s the carriage?’ Miss Miller leaned around him to frown at his single horse.

  As he’d ridden almost non-stop for a day and a half, resting only for a few hours at a posting-house, he’d long since swapped the black gelding he’d borrowed from Owen for a hire horse. His current ride was a chestnut mare who’d been slow to get going but who’d kept up a steady pace with a little bribery.

  ‘We don’t need a carriage. Miss Guinevere will be quite safe riding in front of me.’ The mare would barely even notice the added weight of the child.

  ‘You’re not leaving me behind.’ Maggie’s eyes flashed something fierce. ‘Your Grace,’ she added quickly.

  ‘We don’t have time for this.’ Calum barely resisted tossing his hands in the air in suddenly exasperation. ‘Gwen will come with me. You’re not in any personal danger from Blackford, are you?’

  ‘He doesn’t care a tuppence about me. It’s the girls he wants, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you take Gwen away from me. She’d terrified of men. You’ll give her palpitations.’

  ‘It cannot be all that bad.’

  ‘Just because you say something doesn’t make it true. Geoffrey hit her, for goodness sakes.’ She stared him down. She was nearly as tall as he was, nearly eye to eye with him. If Ellen and Lady F had taught him anything abo
ut women it was that this fight was over long before it had even begun.

  ‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘I’ll hire a carriage from the village. Be ready to leave in two hours.’

  ***

  Evendale proper liked Cal about as much as the wee Miss Guinevere did.

  Passersby glared at him as he rode down Main Street. Their eyes bored into his back and their snide whispers stung his ears. They mightn’t know he was a duke, but half his face looked like it had been to hell and back, and that was more than enough fodder to feed their imaginations.

  Which was exactly why he hated leaving his house.

  Yes, he was used to people staring. They’d stared at him most of his life. After all, he was the half-Scottish son of a duke and he looked nothing like his father. But since the age of ten, he’d had Pierce by his side, and the two of them had held their heads high. It had made him feel dangerous and desired. Between Pierce’s blond hair and blue eyes, and Calum’s darker looks, they’d been the centre of everyone’s attention. The ladies of the ton had found the pair irresistible, and, if he was being completely honest, he’d rather enjoyed the attention.

  But now the staring was nothing more than judgemental. And he no longer had Pierce by his side.

  Not that he’d left his townhouse much these last four years; he hadn’t travelled further than the House of Lords and only when they were to vote on a particularly important piece of reform legislation. He was a Whig and an abolitionist loud and proud. Ten years fighting at sea could do that to man.

  Cal tugged on the upturned collar of his greatcoat, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. He was here for one reason and one reason only. Ellie. He had better things to worry about than a handful of ill-mannered country knaves.

  A row of cottages lined Main Street, a medieval church dominating one end. Its graveyard likely housed more headstones than people currently living in Evendale, including Ellen’s parents.

  With those bruises, Ellie was lucky not to be buried in that graveyard. Lucky? He ground his teeth. There was nothing lucky about being dragged about by your own brother until your wrists turned black and blue.